


Shadow Man

by Darby_Harper



Series: World In My Eyes-The Changeling Universe [2]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Dark Magic, Goddesses, Necromancy, Other, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-17 05:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16089149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darby_Harper/pseuds/Darby_Harper
Summary: Richard's necromancer ability has gotten a taste for what it can do...and chaos ensues.///This happens after the events in Chapter Seven ofReach Up For The Sunrise-Part One of theWorld In My Eyesseries.





	Shadow Man

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked on my Tumblr, I think, "What would happen if Richard lost control of his necromancer's ability?" Well, I've been pondering this for a long, long time, so here it is. Un-beta'd as I wanted to get this down while the ideas were flowing, which they haven't recently.

/////

 

The feeling that something’s not right is an itch in the back of Till’s mind, something that’s a bit of an irritation at first that blooms into a mental feeling of sand in his shoes. He’s able to keep the emotions off his face that afternoon at a photo shoot for the band’s new album, but just barely. He shifts uneasily where he stands next to Paul, who is glaring into the harsh studio lights as if by the power of his glare they’ll shatter and plunge the room into darkness. But behind that angry stare is unease much like Till’s; he’s been sensing something is going to happen, something bad, and it will happen soon.

 

 _::You feel it too?::_ Paul says privately to Till, who nods only a fraction. He’s half listening to Richard playfully arguing with his mate, Christoph, who is poking him in the belly with a drumstick and telling him he needs to start working out, that his “dad pudge” is growing. Richard snorts at him and pokes Christoph back, causing the drummer to giggle and pull him close. The other half of Till’s attention is taken up watching Lilly, Richard and Christoph’s lover, as she sits in a heavily padded armchair just off set.

 

She’d spoken to Till briefly the night before, telling him that she’s having suspicions that the incident a week ago where Richard’s daughter was almost kidnapped by two men that they believe were sent by the same people who’d been following them on their last tour might have given Richard’s necromancer’s talent a taste for what it could do if he let it off the leash he’d struggled so hard to maintain. He’d almost killed the two men; only the intercession at the last moment by Christoph and Lilly’s unborn daughter Isobel knocking him senseless had kept the worst from happening. Not only had the Lady of Death warned them that using his dark gift would call down ruination for him, he’d also been warned by the kitsune, Lady Miko, that had brought that gift to life of what using his gift wrongly would do. His soul would be obliterated, never to return in any way, shape or form, and his death would be horrific. He’d been terrified enough after waking up after the assault that his hard-won control had slipped and had been quite careful since to keep all of his talents tucked away and locked down.

 

The photographer calls for a break, for the band to change costumes and for the sets to be changed. Flake and Ollie are the first to head for the small changing room they’ve been given, Paul dashes out of the room, heading towards the restroom, complaining loudly that another five seconds and his tonsils will be floating, while Till takes a sweating bottle of water from an assistant with a nod and shy smile. Cracking the lid, he follows Richard and Christoph over to the chairs that are arranged in a u-shape to take the weight off his feet. His new boots are well broken in and quite comfy but he’s tired. Between getting ready for the tour, working on his own projects and a recent trip to Alaska with Siobhan, he’s a lot more tired than he wants to be. He knows the Changeling virus living in his bones and DNA will repair any damage he’s done to himself, but it takes time and he’s not had the spare time to sleep more than a few hours at a time. He sits down across from Lilly, who has her feet up in Richard’s lap and one arm draped across Christoph’s shoulder where he’s managed to wedge himself into the chair she’s sitting in. With a snorting laugh, Till says, “Good thing you haven’t gained an ounce, Doom, else you’d be squeezing Lilly clean out of that chair.”

 

“Hey, I’m not the one eating for two, that’s Reesh,” Christoph replies, ducking a swat from Lilly but not a towel thrown at him by Richard. “I swear, you’re acting like you’re pregnant, love. Right down to the morning sickness.”

 

“Oh bullshit!” Richard replies with some heat, but it’s heat tempered with humor. “You were sick every morning too, and worse than I was! I can’t help it if Lilly makes the best cookies and fudge this side of…well…oh shut up, Christoph!”

 

Till hides a laugh behind one broad hand as he watches the trio playfully argue with one another. He has to admit, Lilly’s culinary skills when it comes to desserts and sweets are up there with some of the best, and he’s been the recipient of many of her cakes and candies, even the ones that don’t turn out quite right. He looks up and meets her royal blue-green-hazel glance and says : _:I can shut them up if they’re getting on your nerves. If I remember correctly, pregnant women have short tempers and I’d hate it if you murdered one of them before the tour starts::_

_::They’re behaving themselves, for once::_ Lilly replies dryly. _::That trip to New York City they took helped a lot. I guess having some alone time, really alone, was what they needed. And I certainly needed the alone time too, I was starting to wonder if I should ask Siobhan if she knew of some kind of herb I could put in their coffee that would make them mute for 48 hours! Fiona was considering taking a shit in their shoes if they hadn’t left when they did::_

A gentle tendril of thought brushes up against Till’s consciousness, it’s Ollie, who in his always-polite way is asking if he can talk to Till alone. Excusing himself from the conversation he’s having with Lilly, he turns his attention inwards. Ollie’s mental voice is sunlight-warmed velvet with the ‘scent’ of pine, a hint of church incense and something he can’t quite identify. Ollie waits a moment and says, _::I kinda need some help here, Till. Paul’s freaking out in here. He said that he saw something when he was coming out of the bathroom. He came in the dressing room looking like he’d seen a hoard of zombies rising out of the grave. He’s scared shitless, Till, and he won’t let me see anything. Can you stall the photographer and his crew for five minutes or so? I’ll try to get him to pipe down but it’s going to take me that long, if not longer::_

Till doesn’t have to ask if Ollie will let him share his sight, he feels Paul’s blinding panic like a tsunami against his brain. How Ollie’s holding it away from everyone else is miraculous, something Till is quite thankful for. Lending a shred of strength to Ollie’s to keep Paul from infecting everyone around with his fear, Till stands up, drinks off the rest of the water and leaves the room, stopping long enough to tell one of the photographer’s assistants that he’s got a bit of important business to take care of and waves his phone vaguely in the air to lend some  truth to the lie.

 

He makes his way down the brightly lit hallway to the small dressing room the band has been given and through the closed door he can hear Paul shouting in Russian, something that means, within the band and its circle, that he’s angry and terrified. Till knocks on the door in the established pattern that means that it’s a band member and not someone else; Flake opens it a crack and yanks Till through the gap, putting a scrape in the heavy leather jacket he’s wearing.

 

“Keep your damn voice down, Paul!” Flake snaps, grabbing Paul’s shoulder and shaking him like a terrier with a rat. “On the off chance that someone understands Russian, even with you shrieking a mile a minute in it!”

 

“Are you going to fucking listen to me or not, Flake?” Paul snaps in German, jerking his shoulder out of Flake’s grip. “Richard is going to do something awful and it’s going to kill him! You know that necromancer shit in his head is just itching for a chance to get out again! He doesn’t have the control over it that he thinks he does.”

 

“Paul, you’ve said in the past that what you can see isn’t always right or it’s vague enough to be interpreted a thousand ways,” Till says, gently pushing Paul backwards until the backs of his knees meets the edge of a chair and he sits down with a thud. “Are you absolutely sure about what you saw?”

 

“Till, I’ve never felt like the things I see might be reality but this…this feels real. I felt…I felt Richard _die_ , Till. I felt our bond snap and fade and goddamn it, it fucking _hurts_!”  Paul hisses, tears beginning to form at the edges of his grey-blue eyes. There’s a tinge of silver around the iris which is a sign that the visions only Paul can see still haunt him and that the modicum of control that he has is fraying. Till lays a broad hand on Paul’s shoulder and without a thought as to what might happen by prying without asking, Till drops into Paul’s visions.

 

He comes back out with a bitten off yell, feeling blood trickling down his upper lip from where his nose is bleeding. His short claws have dug a hole in Paul’s leather jacket, almost down to his skin, and a headache is making him grit his teeth. Flake grabs a roll of paper towels and throws them to Till so he can staunch the bleeding, while Ollie guides him to a chair to sit down before his knees give out. He takes a moment to wipe his bloody face, then Till says, “This is bad. This is very, very bad.”


End file.
